


The Price of Victory

by autobotscoutriella



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Desperate situations call for desperate remedies, Gen, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autobotscoutriella/pseuds/autobotscoutriella
Summary: Her unit and the refugees they're meant to be protecting are pinned down by Decepticon armies, but Elita One doesn't plan to go down without a fight.





	1. Chapter 1

The faintest glimmer of dawn was breaking over the mountain slopes by the time Elita One found a moment to stand still and take stock of her unit's position. A few rays of sunlight glinted off the worn metal peaks high above, but the light and warmth would not reach the battle-torn foothills for at least another forty minutes, perhaps more. In the dim half-light, the bright armor plating of the soldiers around her looked washed-out and dull, unsettlingly similar to the gunmetal grey of the corpses that littered the lower slopes beyond the makeshift barrier wall. Every EM field was drawn in tight, hiding all but the barest whispers of feeling, and though a quiet hum of voices came from the triage center tucked into the meager shelter of a tiny valley further up the mountain, no one on the front lines spoke.

Elita didn't need words to understand. Her soldiers were exhausted, hungry, battered, and grieving their losses, and there was no reassurance that the battle would end and allow them to rest any time soon. They knew the situation as well as she did; the unit, and the tiny group of refugees they had been trying to guard, had nowhere left to run. Scaling the mountain would leave them easy targets for the Decepticons on the fields below, and the wounded would not be able to make the climb, but trying to reach the flatlands would require fighting their way through a small army of enemies.

There were undoubtedly worse situations to be in, but at the moment, Elita was having trouble thinking of one.

"Medical report's in, Commander." Chromia sounded as ragged as Elita felt, voice as rough as if she'd spent the last thirty-six hours swallowing glass. Given the jagged, roughly patched shrapnel wounds tracing Chromia's neck, jaw, and shoulder, that might not have been far from the reality. "Most of the unit hit by the Heavies is gone. Medical managed to patch up Steeljaw and the two Velocitronians. Delta and Signal Flare will live, but they'll be out of commission 'til someone scrapes up enough spare parts to get them back on their wheels. The rest..."

"Damn." Elita swallowed the grief that threatened to well up and make itself evident in her field and her voice. There would be time to mourn later, when they had survived the day to come. "What about the long-range comm units?"

"Still jammed. Probably someone down no that field. Blaster's trying." Chromia coughed, grimaced, and scrubbed a servo across her optics, rubbing away dried energon. "No word from Moonracer. She'd be out of the range of the jammer now. Maybe closing in on Hot Rod's unit."

 _If she made it_ went unspoken. It was a dangerous, rough route even without the Decepticon units on the fields below, and with them--Elita could only hope that the scout was still alive and unharmed. "We can't wait on reinforcements. If they've been hit too, they may not have anyone to spare, let alone supplies. Where's Firestar?"

Chromia nodded down the slopes. "Left flank on watch. If the Heavies come back, she can't hold them alone, but she's got a better chance than any of us grounders."

Elita nodded, attention shifting to the shadows on the plain below that marked the Decepticon position. By her count, after the losses of the day before and assuming the Decepticon Heavy Brigade had left permanently, her Autobots were outnumbered by roughly one-and-a-half to one. The enemy was better supplied, with heavier weapons, and generally in better condition; her unit had been pushed to their limit before being asked to escort the refugees, and they had been worn down further with every hour.

But as far as Elita was concerned, every one was worth a dozen Decepticons. She couldn't have asked for a better unit. If anyone could survive this, it would be them. She would not let them be slaughtered here, if she had any say in it.

"We still have the high ground." Elita spoke more to herself than Chromia, optics flickering over every feature of the landscape. "Twenty refugees, plus anyone too wounded to fight. Ten miles to the nearest pass." It really wasn't far, by the standards of a healthy adult Cybertronian. The problem was that they were short on healthy adult Cybertronians. "If the 'Cons weren't here, how many would you want to get them to that pass?"

"Soldiers?" Chromia thought about that. "Ten, fifteen maybe. The medics and the refugees could help with transport. But with the 'Cons down there--"

"I know." Elita glanced back at the mountain slopes. The dawn light had crept further down the metallic peak even in the few moments since she’d last looked. "They're not expecting us to move out now. Look--there's a couple fires burning down, and not much movement. They're patching up their wounded and waiting for the sun to be in our optics before they move in. We've got a tiny window and we need to use it." She strode off down the slope toward Firestar's position, slowing her pace to allow Chromia to keep up despite the blue mech's visible stiffness.

"You want to split our forces. Hit them with a partial unit and send the rest down to the pass." Chromia's voice was tight, but steady. "It's risky, Commander. If they catch on, they'll send the fliers after the refugees and injured. They have enough to spare."

"If." Chromia was right, but it was past the time for safe options. Any plan that gave at least some of her soldiers a decent chance of survival was better than waiting. "If we stay here, they'll move in when the sun rises and crush us. We don't have time to come up with something better. If anyone's not willing to take that risk, I won't order it."

No one would opt out, and Elita knew it. Every soldier in the unit was loyal, dependable, committed, the best of the best. No matter what the risk, they had followed Elita this far and they would follow her further. The thought of what she was about to ask them was a crushing weight on her spark, even if it succeeded.

But she had no choice but to ask, and they had no choice but to answer. All she could do was give them the best possible chance to survive and protect as many as she could.

"Understood. We'll back you." Despite her injuries, Chromia's optics burned with determination, and Elita felt her own courage rising to meet it. If they died, they would do it facing down the enemy and protecting, not trying to flee into the hills.

"Have them ready to move out in ten minutes or as close to that as they can get."

***

The ash and dust plastering Firestar's plating gave her a grim, almost ghostly appearance. Elita shook off the flash of old superstition that wondered if it was a bad omen and focused her attention on the fields below, where the Decepticons were stirring. If they were going to move, it had to be now.

::Are you sure you don't want me with you, Commander?:: Chromia's voice crackled over the comm line. Had Elita turned to look, she knew she would have seen her second in command in the narrow valley that formed the triage shelter, faithfully guarding the little band of soldiers and refugees. ::Lancer can lead this team. You need every warrior you can get.::

::I know.:: Had she had more options, Elita would have liked nothing more to have Chromia at her side. Firestar was a good soldier and a good leader, but she didn't have the easy, seamless, wordless rapport that Elita had developed with Chromia over a hundred years of fighting side by side. They knew each other's movements as well as they knew their own. In a battle like the coming one, they needed every possible advantage.

But she had more to think about than herself. Lancer was a decent leader, too, but with Greenlight among the wounded, her attention was divided at a time when they could not afford distractions. If somehow they failed, if the attack was easily overwhelmed or if the Decepticons realized part of the Autobot force was missing, it would take the best warriors on the planet to defend their wounded and the noncombatants.

And the inescapable fact remained that if Elita fell in this battle, the Autobots would need a capable, experienced mech to take her place. Risking every member of her command hierarchy in one battle would have been a terrible mistake.

::I need you with the refugees. I know that you will get them to safety, no matter what.::

::Copy.:: Chromia's message betrayed no hesitation, though Elita knew if she had been in Chromia's position, she would have chafed at the prospect.

::Wait until we hit the 'Cons. Then go.:: Elita turned to Firestar, and allowed herself one last look at the unit of Autobots arranged behind them, knowing it would be the last time she would see some of them alive. "Take your team around to the left. We'll take the right." She didn't have the numbers for a proper pincer maneuver, but it would at least throw off the Decepticons and give them a fighting chance.

They could do this. They _would_ do this.

"Autobots, roll out!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice I've updated the warnings on this fic--this chapter got a little bloodier than I anticipated. I don't think it moves far enough from the PG-13 realm to justify a rating change, but please do heed the warnings if bloody battle violence isn't your cup of tea.

After a long, cold night, the pale blue energon fires in the Decepticon camp had burned low and the handful of mechs set to guard the edges were moving slower than they had when Elita had caught a glimpse of them as the battle ended at sunset. Perhaps they were tired, or just bored after a night of guarding, though she hoped for the first. Her soldiers were exhausted, hungry, and battered—if the Decepticons were facing the same challenge, maybe this would not be their desperate last stand after all.

_Still time to call it off,_ something whispered in the back of her processor. _You could pull them back to the foothills. Dig in and hold position and wait for help to come._ But she pushed the thought away and set her jaw tightly.

No. If they stayed, they would all die when the Decepticons mobilized and attacked. If they fought, some of them might live.

She sent out a single comm message to the band of Autobots behind her. ::Go!::

The first two patrolmechs to spot them died before they could shout a warning, one falling to Elita's blade and the second to a rapid swipe from Sonar's curved knife as the hulking beastformer moved to the Commander's side. For a second, it looked like they might make it into the camp undiscovered, manage to hit the 'Cons from inside before they knew what was coming—

Then the third mech, the one none of them had seen until that instant, shouted "Attack! Enemy inbound! Attack!"

A laser bolt thudded through his chest, killing him before he hit the ground, but too late. The narrow trenches that served as shelter suddenly came alive with Decepticon foot soldiers, scattering across the camp into loose defensive formations bristling with blades and guns barely thirty seconds after the alarm.

Fuck.

Elita bit back the curse that sprang into her throat and lunged, slicing the nearest 'Con from shoulder to hip in one stroke and ignoring the resulting spray of energon that turned pink plating blue. "Autobots, forward!"

Then all hell broke loose.

Elita lost track of how many Decepticons fell in front of her. There were more everywhere she turned, bipedal and quadrupedal and frametypes she didn't have time to identify before hacking them into pieces as they swarmed her. There were so many, more than she'd calculated for, and she wondered for a desperate moment if the heavy fliers hadn't just been there to provide backup and harry the Autobots further into the foothills, if they'd actually been bringing in more ground troops—

There was no time to think about what might have gone wrong. She saw Spiral go down, a gaping hole where vivid green chest plating had once been, and behind her Cameo crashed to the ground with a mangled knee and was torn to pieces by a quadruped with a mouthful of fangs. Elita leaped over Spiral's frame and grabbed the Decepticon by the throat, slamming her blade through what looked like a spark chamber, but it was too late for her soldier, and for Primus only knew how many others.

At least Chromia must have had time to get the refugees well away. The Decepticons were focusing their forces on the Autobots in the field—as painfully evidenced by the constant rush of soldiers with seemingly endless ammunition. They just had to hold out long enough for the refugees to reach the pass, and it would be enough—and maybe, maybe, if they held out enough, a few of the soldiers with her would manage to push through the Decepticon line and make a run for it.

Without a miracle, that was unlikely, but she could not resign herself to the fact that she'd led every single one of her soldiers to their deaths.

A shot clipped her high on the cheek, leaving a flash of agony and the distinctive smell of burnt metal and energon in its wake. Elita whirled, dropped to a knee to avoid a second shot, and yanked the nearest Decepticon in front of her as a shield from the third, ramming her blade through his back before he could lash out at her. A kick sent the body flying into the shooter, knocking them back a pace and giving her a split-second of breathing room to grab her gun.  Surrounded, overwhelmed—it was impossible not to wonder how long her energy reserves would hold out.

_As long as they have to_ , was her immediate response as a single shot took the Decepticon through the throat. _As long as they have to._

The hum of a jet engine streaked by overhead, and Elita's spark dropped even as she spun to knock another Decepticon away from Sonar and Blaster, who stood back to back over the injured Andromeda. If the heavy fliers were back, it was over—

A blast ripped through the nearest knot of Decepticons, sending lighter frames flying and leaving a tangled knot of melted gunmetal gray where the central few had been. Flame mods blazing at full capacity, Firestar dropped out of the sky, landing on one foot, one knee, and one hand, clearing a radius around her as the flames drove back the circling foot soldiers. "There you are, Commander!" Despite the crisscross of bleeding wounds across one wing and a missing strip of plating down her left arm, Elita's third-in-command sounded almost casual. "Should've known I'd find you in the middle of the action."

"I was starting to wonder when you'd show up." Elita took advantage of the split-second of breathing room to wipe energon and ash out of her optics, and to wonder when the cut on her helm crest had appeared. "We're taking heavy losses. Any idea—" As if to punctuate her words, a Decepticon lunged between them, and she barely managed to catch him a glancing blow that knocked him a pace back. Firestar's shot took him between the optics. "What's the status of your team?"

"Doing a bit better. Yours took the brunt—" Firestar jumped back as a figure lunged out of the nearest trench and smashed the handle of her gun down on the Decepticon's helm. "—I think you hit before we did, drew them over this way. If we can push through here, cross that trench straight south, we can combine forces—"

"And get our wounded the Pit out of here." Elita took another Decepticon's helm off, and leaped back as an explosion sent metal shards spraying everywhere. She didn't feel the tiny cuts opening up across her plating, but she knew they were there. "Can you take Andromeda?"

Firestar snapped off two more shots, shoved her gun back into its holster, and dropped to a knee beside Sonar. "Cover me. I'll get her on the other side, see if Gamma Ray's still got that spare medkit and can at least get her walking."

"Copy." Gritting her teeth and adjusting her hold on her blade, Elita turned on the approaching Decepticons and shouted over the comm line to ensure every Autobot heard her. ::Pull back to the south! Follow Firestar and head for the plains!::

It was a brutal struggle to push their way forward, a battle with the terrain as much as with the Decepticons. Besides the shelter trenches, the ground was ragged with craters from older battles that became deeper and more dangerous the further away from the foothills they moved, threatening to trip her up with every step. The sun had risen fully over the horizon, reflecting off metal and blinding anyone who looked to the east. Still, Elita pushed on with Sonar and Blaster in her wake, joined by a badly limping Glyph trying to support a half-stunned Beta, who might have been missing an optic. It was hard to tell through the energon.

_Keep moving. Keep moving._

Suddenly, through the haze of swirling ash and a few streaks of energon, the plains opened up in front of them, with Firestar's bright plating serving as a beacon for the knot of Autobots who had managed to push clear of the encircling Decepticons and were slowly working their way back away from the approaching enemy. It should have been an instant of triumph, of hope, they could make it through and hold off the retreat—

But there were so few left.

How many of her soldiers had died? How many bodies had they left behind them on the plains?

She couldn't think about that now. They could mourn later, but if they stopped now there would be no one left alive to grieve. Push forward, out across the plains, and hope they could hold off the Decepticons long enough to reach an Autobot outpost.

For a moment, she was too occupied with the whirling blade in front of her to understand what Blaster was shouting at her—something about _lines_ and _help_ , and she would have turned to him if she could but it was too much of a risk with the Decepticons closing in—

Then he must have switched to comms, because it finally broke through. ::Long-range comms are back up, Commander! Prime's unit is three miles out—says to hold on for ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.::

Elita let out a vent she hadn't realized she was holding, even as another Decepticon who had come too close fell under her blade. _Ten minutes. Hold out for ten minutes. We can hold that._

It was eight minutes exactly, though it felt like eternity, until the first laser fire hit the Decepticons closing in again on the huddle that was all that remained of Elita's unit. War cries echoed across the field, and three full units were suddenly surrounding her soldiers, hitting hte Decepticons and forcing them back toward the mountains.

Elita allowed herself a single exhausted gasp of relief and a moment to wipe at her face again, trying to clear her vision. Her optics met Firestar's, which were dimmer than they had once been, but still glowed.

_It worked._

_At what cost?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final chapter! It's been fun--and I think this is the first time I've finished a multi-chapter in a while, so that's a good feeling.

The list scrolled down, and down, and down, and just when Elita thought it must have come to an end, it kept going.

"Is this right?" She forced herself to look up from the horrifyingly high number at the young soldier who'd  brought it. He couldn't have been more than a few years out of his third frame, barely more than a youngling. "This list has been...thoroughly checked?"

"Yes'm. Prime's orders, they did three confirmation checks." The soldier fidgeted in place, seemed to catch himself, and snapped to attention. "E-every casualty is on that list. Ma'am."

Elita nodded slowly, suppressing any sign of her sinking spark with some difficulty. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

Under other circumstances, she would have asked the youngling's name and unit, recognizing him as an individual and not just one more cog in the war machine, but today she couldn't bring herself to be quite so personal.

Just over half of her unit. _Gone._

She had made the call to attack. It was her responsibility. Those losses were on her conscience. Prime's units had been only a few hours away; if she had just held them back, delayed the attack for less than half a day, perhaps...

No. She could not go down that path. She had made the best choice she could with the information she had at the time, and every soldier there had known the price they could pay. War had a cost. Every Cybertronian knew that, and no leader, no matter how long they had been in command or how hard they tried, could prevent every death.

But they had lost _so many._

A knock on the door jarred her out of her thoughts. She took a single second to vent, in, out, calming herself, and called "Enter."

Optimus Prime's massive blue and red frame appeared in the doorway, shadow nearly blocking out the lights from the hallway. Elita set the datapad aside and stood, meeting his optics with a calm she didn't entirely feel. "Prime."

"Commander, good evening." Optimus inclined his helm slightly in a respectful nod, and apparently noting her posture, added, "There's no need for ceremony. I hoped you would be willing to walk with me, as there are some things we should discuss—but it can wait, if you need rest."

From some officers, that might have sounded condescending, but Elita was reasonably sure it was entirely sincere. It didn't matter, though. Whether she needed the rest or not, it would be a long time before she was ready to sleep again. "Of course, I can join you. Though I hope you will excuse me if I am...less focused than I might be otherwise." With a nod to the datapad, she added quietly, "The casualty reports."

"Ah." The Prime's optics dimmed in acknowledgment. "I am sorry for the losses. Had we been able, I would have sent forces to your aid sooner."

"There is no need to apologize, Prime. You did all you could. As did my scout." Elita stepped carefully past him into the hallway, and matched his pace as they made their way toward the stairs. "We had no idea you were leading the units in this area. I thought Hot Rod was still in command in this sector."

"He was, but the situation has changed, which is what I must discuss with you. But first—how is your second in command recovering? I know she was injured in the initial battle."

At the thought, Elita could not help a brief smile, despite exhaustion and grief. "Chromia will be fine. She's been convinced to get some rest in the medbay—" despite her adamant insistence that if she was capable of leading a refugee group halfway across Cybertron, there was certainly no need for her to be confined to a recovery room overnight "—and should be back on duty within the week."

As would several others. Firestar had managed to avoid any serious injury, and while Greenlight had needed significant replating, Lancer had assured Elita during her brief report that the young archaeometrist would fully recover. The report hadn't been quite as detailed on the subject of the refugees as Elita would have liked, but under the circumstances, it was entirely forgivable.

"And your units? How many losses did you take?" Elita knew it would not be anywhere near the losses that her single small unit had taken, but hoped that the proportion was lower than she suspected. If she had been responsible for the Prime's units taking heavy losses too, it would make her choice to attack not just a dangerous risk, but a misstep that could threaten the course of the war.

"Not many," Optimus assured her, perhaps sensing her concerns. "We were lucky, and your unit had reduced their numbers considerably before we arrived. Every death is a serious loss, of course, but it could have been much worse."

Elita allowed herself a brief, subtle vent of relief, using the moment spent opening the door as an excuse to turn her face away and steady herself. Perhaps she was more tired than she'd assumed. It wasn't usually so difficult to contain her emotions.

Outside, the sun was setting, but the warmth of the day still lingered in the metal underfoot. Bathed in golden light, with the post-battle rush of activity winding down and the night patrols already gone, the camp was deceptively peaceful, reminding her of pleasant evenings spent in Iacon's streets after a long day's work.

The small group of mechs who made their way slowly past, each one sporting battle scars and fresh patches, quickly dispelled _that_ moment of nostalgia.

"So what brings the Prime to the far side of the mountains?" Elita studied the distant line of peaks on the horizon, with the sun dipping below them. "Have the Decepticons pulled back from Helex and Nova Cronum?"

"They were pushed further south, but snew intelligence required a redistribution of our forces." Optimus's tone turned even graver than usual, if that was possible. "Decepticon forces have been detected south of Stanix. Jazz's agents report that Shockwave appears to be in command."

Shockwave. A faint shiver ran down Elita's spine, but she ignored it. "There's nothing south of Stanix. What do they want down there?"

"We do not know." Optimus gazed off into the distance, a hint of a frown on his otherwise impassive features. "Intercepted transmissions suggest a weapon of some kind may be the goal. The Stanix ruins would provide shelter, and with our forces occupied elsewhere, Shockwave could develop almost anything he had the materials for and deploy it without the Autobots having a chance to react."

"Sounds like Shockwave." Elita considered their options, but already suspected what Optimus was likely to propose. "With three units, your redeployment is hardly subtle. Am I correct in assuming you are here to cover this sector so that smaller units can be moved into the Stanix area?"

Optimus nodded gravely. "I have been informed that we could put one unit in the area, to send back intelligence while providing a first line of defense. I had hoped that you would be willing to lead this team. But after the losses your unit suffered today, I cannot in good conscience order you into that situation."

Elita felt a response leap to her vocalizer, and silenced herself before saying anything rash. _Of course we can do this,_ she wanted to tell him. _My unit is the best. They will recover quickly, and we will stop Shockwave._

But Optimus was right. After losing so many of her soldiers, she didn't have a _unit_ anymore, in the strictest sense of the word. She had half a unit, and a wounded, exhausted half at that.

That was the price they had paid to save the refugees. Asking them to immediately pick back up and take on Shockwave would be too much. Chromia would follow her, and Firestar, Lancer and Greenlight too, but the rest...

"I cannot ask my soldiers to take on defending the planet from whatever abomination Shockwave's putting together in his lab," Elita finally answered, choosing her words with care. "But I am better suited to monitor Shockwave's movements than Hot Rod. My unit is too depleted to provide an effective defense, but a small squad could monitor his activities until we have a larger unit ready to move in."

Optimus seemed to consider that for a moment before replying. "That would be more dangerous than going in with a full unit."

It would, and after the costs of her last command decision, Elita could not have honestly said she was entirely confident. But if it had to be done, it had to be done. Shockwave was a greater threat than almost any other Decepticon; she could not allow him to develop some new monstrosity.

"It will, but if you allow me to choose my own team, I believe it can be done."

After another moment of consideration, the Prime turned to face her with a slow nod. "We will meet with the rest of Command tomorrow, then, and inform them."

Elita returned her attention to the horizon, where the sun had almost vanished behind the mountains. It was an oddly beautiful sight, even though what had happened in those foothills and on that plain would haunt her dreams that night.

Had she made the right decision then? Was she making the right one now?

She could not go down that path. It wouldn't help. All she could do was move forward, and make the Decepticons pay for every loss.

Victory had a price. Sometimes that price was worth paying.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally an idea for a Dreamwidth challenge, but it went way over the word limit, so I decided to expand it and post it separately. I don't know if it really needed to be expanded into three chapters, but I liked the idea, so there it is.


End file.
